Understanding flashed. “I know you’re not alone.” He grinned. “Don’t want the feds to find it, eh?”
He believes me.
She nodded and slowly stepped down from her perch, attempting to hide how badly her knees shook.
“Well, we’ll take care of her and then you can show us.”
Us?
Mercy peered from the scrubby pines and caught her breath. A man stood near the rock formation, his rifle aimed at Sandy, who had climbed partway up the horse’s head.
Sandy’s eyes were wide, her mouth slightly open as she stared down at him.
Mercy drew her weapon. I have cause. She lined up her shot, her heart strangely calm, his torso in her sights.
Metal dug into her temple.
Her heart stuttered as she froze.
Who?
“Can’t let you do that, Mercy.”
That voice. Mercy briefly closed her eyes and lowered her weapon. It can’t be. A stabbing sensation rose in her chest.
It’s him.
Art snatched the gun out of her hands and flung it into the trees.
She turned her head the slightest bit, pressing her temple harder into the gun, and met his gaze. “Fuck you. You fucking rat.” Anger shook her voice.
He smiled, but the emotion didn’t reach his eyes. “You know nothing about me.” Art roughly searched her with one hand, taking too much time at her breasts.
“You’ve been wanting to do that for years, right?” she snapped.
“In my dreams every night, babe.”
Realizations swamped her brain.
“You screwed up this investigation at every turn. You tried to get me to go to Canada, for God’s sake.” Anger flooded her. “Have you done that since the very beginning? For thirty years?” Her fingers flexed, aching to squeeze and destroy something. Preferably his black heart.
“Walk,” Art ordered, moving the gun to press her spine. “Over by her.”
Refusing to raise her hands, she marched over to where Sandy now stood, below the horse’s cheek. Sandy blinked rapidly but seemed in control of herself.
Mercy crossed her arms and took in the second man, who still held a rifle on Sandy, recognizing the eyes and shape of his face immediately. She’d stared at his photos a thousand times. “Trevor Whipple,” she stated. “I’ve been looking for you.” She tilted her head and frowned. “You look a lot older than the photos we had digitally aged.”
Art snorted, but Trevor’s icy-blue eyes glared at her.
“Life on the run hasn’t treated you well,” she continued, deliberately running her gaze up and down him, lingering on the handgun in his shoulder holster. “Scuffed work boots . . . jeans about to disintegrate . . . dirt ground deep into your hands. I don’t think you lived the life of a millionaire. I’d guess you ended up as a ranch hand.”
Trevor’s barrel moved from Sandy to Mercy. Glancing at Art, she saw concern flash in his eyes. Is Art not wholly committed to Trevor’s plan?
“It’s not too late, Art,” Mercy said. “Right now all you’ve done is point a weapon at me. I can’t help you if you take it further.” Her gaze went from his pistol to the rifle slung on his shoulder.
Two men. Four weapons.
Trevor laughed, and Mercy noticed his teeth were brown. He was the charmer of the robbery bunch?
“Oh, it’s way too late for Art, Special Agent Kilpatrick. Waaaay too late.” He laughed again.
Anger flickered across Art’s face, and Mercy felt her heart sink. “What did you do, Art?” she whispered.
He said nothing, his face carefully blank.
Trevor looked from Art to Mercy. “Aren’t you going to answer the special agent?” he prodded, his grin widening. “Tell her.”
Mercy could barely breathe.
“I’m disappointed in you, Art,” Trevor said with fake sorrow. He winked at Mercy. “Art here had a run-in with a reporter.”
“Don’t tell me you shot Tabitha Huff,” she said softly, the dead woman’s face fresh in her memory.
He looked away.
But Mercy knew.
“What did Trevor have on you, Art?” she asked. “What would push you to murder?”
“Shut up,” said Trevor. He pointed his rifle back at Sandy. “This lady has also been telling you lies, Special Agent Kilpatrick. She knows exactly where the money is.”
Every time he said Mercy’s title, he slurred it like an expletive.
Mercy wasn’t done with Art. “You were an FBI agent!” She hurled the words at him. “What was your price to betray your country? Thirty pieces of silver?”
Satisfaction filled her soul at his flinch.
Trevor sneered. “His price was two hundred grand.”
Mercy contemplated Art with disgust. “For two hundred grand, you spent thirty years misleading a major investigation.” She moved her gaze to Trevor. “What happened to your part of the money? You didn’t spend it on clothes.”
“Fuck you.”
The rifle pointed her way again.
“Did Art come to you, Trevor? Did he track you down, and then you bought your way out?”
“Something like that. The feds were getting close. His wife had died, and he was drowning in medical bills. Once I discovered that, I knew I had him.”
She turned a bitter gaze on Art. “Your sob story about your wife’s cancer feels a little hollow now.”
Art had kept his handgun pointed at the ground until now. He raised it, and a chill washed over Mercy as he pointed it directly at her head. “Do not talk about my wife.” His voice was low, his words shrouded in pain.
Mercy didn’t care. She turned her contempt to Trevor. “Did you shoot Ellis Mull?”
He sneered. “I didn’t do it. It was that tiny little bitch.”
He means Bree. She was the driver, not Sandy.
“Bull,” Mercy said.
“No bull.” Trevor flashed his brown teeth again. “She was vicious.” He looked at Sandy. “Leah—Bree—told you where her money is. Spill it.”
“Bree had money left? After thirty years? I doubt that,” Mercy told him.
“Then why the fuck are you digging?”
“If I didn’t, I’d always wonder if it existed, but I admit it was a long shot. Apparently your money didn’t last long.” She frowned. “Just how much did you end up with?”
Art’s uncertain expression kept her peppering Trevor with questions. He wasn’t completely on Trevor’s side. She felt it and would press that advantage as long as she could.
No SWAT team is going to drop from the sky.
There is no other hope.
I know there is a decent man in there somewhere.
Trevor shrugged. “I took Ellis’s portion along with my own. Leah and Nathan split with the rest of the money. Never saw her again until recently.”
Bree shot Ellis, but you got his money? Right.
“What about Shane Gamble? He was just out of luck? No one held money for him in case he got out of prison?”
“Dunno. Ask Leah. She was his girlfriend.”
Sandy gasped. “You’re lying.”
Trevor raised a brow at her. “They were hot and heavy. He brought her in at the last minute to drive for us but promised the money would still be split four ways.”